Chapter 1

An Imperfect Life - Flashbacks

Nolan, 21, last year of college – earning his Master's in Accounting

Lissa, 21, Junior in college earning a BA in Elementary Education

Ryder, 17, Junior in high school

Olivia, 14, 8th grade

Annabelle and Victoria, 9, 3rd grade

Lucas, 7½, 1st grade

Monday, January 8th – three years after A Pivotal Year

"Daddy? Can you help me with my homework?" Olivia begged after dinner.

"Sure, what's the assignment?" Owen agreed, as his heart filled with joy. He loved that Olivia still called him 'Daddy' and hoped she never stopped.

"We've been studying autobiographies," Olivia explained. "Different people read different books and then we told each other about them. I read one about Marie Curie. She was a scientist even though they wouldn't let her go to the University of Warsaw because she was a girl. Her husband, Pierre, was a scientist too. Kind of like how you and Mom are both doctors. Do you know about her?"

"I do. I'm impressed with all the details you just shared. Great job, Liv," Owen praised.

"Daddy…" she whispered so the littles would not hear her, "It's not like I'm still a baby who can only remember a little bit."

Owen nodded as if noting her point. "What's the homework? Are we making a poster, writing a report, or what?"

"We are going to write our own autobiographies over the rest of the school year. The first step is due tomorrow - we're supposed to make a timeline that shows the big events in our lives," Olivia explained.

Pausing briefly, Owen considered how to help Olivia frame the tragic events of her life. He began, "You were born in Victoria, Canada. That's a great place to start."

"I was wondering, since my first daddy died before I was born, should he be on my outline before I was born even though that happened before my life began? 'Cause the story is about my life, but he died before my life started. If I don't list him, that doesn't work because I wouldn't be here without him, right? It's confusing," Olivia fretted, more concerned about completing her report correctly than dwelling on her bio father's death.

"Excellent question," Owen pointed out. "Check with your teacher for sure. I think I'd list your dad first."

"This dot," Olivia decided, "will be the first one and it's for the day my first daddy died. What was the date?"

Owen froze, "Umm… I'm not sure, Liv. We could find out, though. I don't remember the date."

With a sigh, Olivia continued, "For now, I'll put a question mark. The next event was my birth, right?"

"Sounds like a solid plan," Owen nodded.

"Then my bio mommy died in a car accident," she noted. "I was four, wasn't I?"

"Four," Owen confirmed. "Do you want to have anything between your birth and Kayla's death?"

"Ummm… I can't remember anything. Maybe I can interview Nolan later, and he can think of something," Olivia pondered. "After the car accident," Olivia smiled widely, "You and Mom adopted us big kids and we moved to Seattle. There's a lot of dots in this section because then Ria had her big surgery while Mom was pregnant with her, Mom kind of lived in the hospital until the twins were born, you went away in the Army, and Mom had Lucas on the 4th of July. Somewhere during all that, I went to St. Frances for one day and then to Montessori."

"You remember all that?" Owen sought to confirm with an impressed grin.

Olivia responded with confusion, "Of course I remember all that. I remember when you were gone and we would play hot lava with the couch cushions. I also remember that you were hurt when you came back. You and Ria both had walkers," Olivia giggled as she recalled the memory.

"Your memory is better than mine, Livs. I'm not sure I'm helping much," Owen confessed.

Grasping his hand, Olivia glanced up at him with her round, blue eyes and softly encouraged, "Stay. It helps to do this with you."

Owen agreed and the two brainstormed other noteworthy events: starring in The Nutcracker, camping out with the Shepherds, and learning how to read and write. As the timeline continued, Olivia filled in a dot representing Nolan and Lissa's wedding date. She smiled as she recalled details of that day, "Lissa looked magical, and I liked when Nolan picked her up to kiss her."

Then she slowly set her pencil down and admitted, "Sometimes, I wish we could erase sad memories. I don't want to write about when Nolan and Lissa's baby died or about the giant car accident."

"It still hurts to remember, doesn't it? I'll never forget Karina," Owen sighed as he placed his arm around Olivia's shoulders and squeezed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`'

"Larissa! Come on. I'm leaving in two minutes," Nolan barked impatiently from the kitchen of the Little House.

"I'll walk then," she responded with a hint of hostility from the bathroom where she was primping.

Nolan stomped to the bedroom and opened the unlocked door. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, he commanded with utter seriousness, "No, you won't."

Turning to her husband, Lissa snapped, "Don't tell me what to do, Nolan."

"Don't argue with me, Larissa," he insisted.

Now at the end of her junior year of college, Lissa was balancing student teaching and attending college classes. When she had begun assisting in classrooms her freshman year, the team of supervising teachers consistently noted that Lissa constantly leaned upon the authority of the classroom teacher and preferred to serve as second in command. In order to succeed as a teacher, though, Lissa would need to learn how to stand on her own two feet. Her skills were stellar, her knowledge base was solid, her passion for the vocation was clear, and her presence was inspiring. Her mentors knew that once Lissa discovered and embodied an ability to be assertive when necessary, Lissa's teaching career would be off to a solid start.

Over the years, like her fellow students, Lissa assisted in various grades and classrooms. Each teacher in those settings supported Lissa's journey. They helped her develop a sense of authority and an ability to manage a classroom effectively. At first, the changes were so subtle that nobody, including Lissa, noticed the small ways Lissa had learned to self-advocate and consider her own needs.

As time unfolded, however, the changes in how Lissa carried herself had followed her outside the classroom and begun affecting her marriage. Nolan had grown increasingly befuddled and discouraged with some of the changes. His natural leadership tendencies had always been a strength in their relationship. Nolan had never been a controlling husband; yet, he found himself wondering how he could lead their home and lives as his assumptions and decisions faced challenge or resistance.

As Lissa became more aware that she had her own preferences and opinions, the couple faced increased tension. The misunderstandings that were easily negotiated in the early days of their marriage turned into heated discussions and arguments. As Nolan stood in the doorway that morning, he wondered how conflictual the conversation would become.

Determined to win the staring contest, he barked, "You're not walking – you saw the news last night, Larissa. There was a huge drug bust up the street last weekend and there's been a rash of burglaries around here lately. It's not safe for you to walk alone. I won't let you take that chance."

"Then wait for me. I'd be done if you weren't hassling me," Lissa argued, holding back commentary on Nolan's choice of words about what he wouldn't allow.

"Highly unlikely," Nolan countered as he raised his eyebrows, folded his arms, and leaned against the door frame watching her.

"I'm not doing this, Nolan," Lissa declared flatly.

"What? Doing what?" he sarcastically responded.

As she leaned close to the mirror to finish her lipstick, she contended, "Fighting. Arguing. Life's too short." She stood up and navigated around her husband, grabbed her bag, and gazed at him impatiently. "Let's go then."

Even in the heights of his anger, Nolan couldn't stop being Nolan. He placed his hand gently on the small of her back as they walked to the car, and he opened Lissa's door for her. He abruptly pulled out of the driveway and steered the Jeep toward St. Mary's, nagging, "Remember to talk to your advisor about next year's placement. If I'm going to be driving into the city every day for work, I won't be able to drive you to your student teaching assignment. Since you'll be driving alone, you'll need a safe location."

Lissa rolled her eyes and exhaled audibly. She had no intention to ask the school for special treatment – every young woman in her class could bring up the same concern. However, as she'd said minutes prior, she was not willing to begin her day with an argument. When Nolan turned into a mother hen, she wanted to throttle him. What was once charming when they were young teens was now aggravating.

Not having heard a response, Nolan kindly confirmed with the best of intentions, "You know what I mean, Shorty?"

Unable to stay silent, she challenged, "What's in it for you, Nolan? What do you gain by keeping me in a helpless state, dependent on you for my safety?"

"Oh for F #!s sake, Larissa," Nolan fumed as he slammed his hands off and back on the steering wheel. "Stop twisting my words and intentions into some demented, ego-driven, unmet need. I love you and care about you."

She frowned at him, aware that the timing of their words couldn't be worse. They were almost at St. Mary's. Neither said a word to the other until he stopped at the drop off spot.

As she began to exit the car, Nolan reached out his hand and tried to rub her lower arm. He tenderly declared, "I love you, Mrs. Tremblay-Hunt."

"6 o'clock?" she inquired, seeking to confirm when he'd pick her up that evening.

"Yeah, I'll text if that changes," he promised before repeating, "Love you."

She stared through the window of the Jeep's door before turning away and walking to class.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~'

A few days later, Owen sat at his desk reviewing the timeline for the ER overhaul and remodel. In the midst of calculating when to ensure new MRIs and CAT scanners were on order and finding a vendor for the portable x-ray machines, he'd begun doodling on his desk pad. When he'd come to the layout for the new pediatric ER, he spotted a note about preterm births written in the margins. Some pregnancy-related emergencies would be able to be initially managed in the ER while others would be sent directly and immediately to Labor and Delivery.

A group of doctors reasoned that any pregnancy up to 16 weeks gestation or after 33 weeks could begin to be handled downstairs. The sterile and scientific reasoning was that any birth up to 16 weeks was a definite miscarriage without the possibility of saving the baby. Given fetal viability statistics, women in labor at that stage of pregnancy did not need to be evaluated by OB as urgently as those between 17-32 weeks did. Mag sulfate and other anti-labor medications could be administered anywhere, and starting in the ER made more sense than crowding Labor and Delivery. Any laboring mom past 33 weeks had a smaller risk for complications. The committee determined that having the Pediatric ER screen those situations allowed trauma specialists to be integrated into any case from the beginning. Owen still had mixed feelings about the new protocol, but he agreed to a trial run after multiple meetings and discussions.

Sixteen weeks. The tiny, barely legible number jumped out at him from the architect's print outs even though it was written in pencil. Like a neon sign, the number 16 caught and held his attention. Lissa had been sixteen weeks along when Owen and Amelia's first and only grandchild had been born. Memories of Karina's birth and death seldom overwhelmed Owen anymore, so the heaviness in his gut surprised him.

Try as he might, Owen couldn't break away from the flashbacks and memories of that distressing day. His chest tightened as he recalled Nolan's young hand holding the baby that fit perfectly from fingertip to wrist. His heart rushed as he felt devastation upon seeing Lissa's terrified face. He shuddered as the familiar sharp chill ran up his spine and heated up when it reached his neck. Knowing that a full blown flashback was nearing, Owen berated himself for not calling Amelia the second the number 16 began to haunt him. At this point, he wasn't sure he could manage to dial her pager number, and he wasn't about to let Patricia know he was falling apart again.

His body shivered with chills as sweat dripped from his head and shoulders. With great effort, he attempted to focus on his breathing. Standing up, Owen challenged himself to rise above the chaos of his haunting memories that now flashed rapidly in his mind, one after the other. Almost stumbling, he caught himself on the edge of his desk. His trembling hand pressed the speaker button and then the speed dial for Amelia's cell. When the moment came to enter his number, his shaking finger pressed 9 – 9 – 9 before moving to 1. Unable to rest the receiver on the phone properly, Owen yanked the phone cord out of the wall as he slumped onto the floor and began sobbing.

Meanwhile, at the Neuro Nurses' Station, Amelia was joking with a couple nurses who, like her, were raising teenagers.

With a deep belly laugh, she shared, "Oh… and watching Owen fret over his little girl and her emotional ups and downs. The poor, poor man. I swear the Daddy – Daughter relationship is the toughest to navigate."

"I couldn't agree more," one nurse affirmed. Amelia's pager sounded, which confused her. The only department that needed her today was the one in which she was standing.

The other nurse, having heard the page, inquired, "Who would be paging you, Dr. Shepherd? The other Dr. Shepherd is covering the ER."

Amelia looked down and read aloud, "9 – 9 – 9 – 1?" She furrowed her brow and shifted her lips toward one cheek as she attempted to sort out the cryptic message. "Can you dial 00 and hand me the phone, Shirley?" Double zero was the main switchboard. Perhaps they'd have some way of tracing the page.

"Hello, this is Dr. Amelia Shepherd, Neuro. I just received a strange page to 9-9-9-1. Is there any chance you're able to trace it or help me figure out who sent it?"

As Amelia's call was put on hold, she and the nurses resumed their conversation. "Tell me your best teenage boy story since last time we talked, Jen," Amelia begged.

Shaking her head, Jen responded, "He's up to the same antics. I wish I had something new to share. Coming home late, not doing homework, harassing his little sister. Nothing even mildly entertaining."

"Thank you," Amelia said to the operator as she threw Shirley the receiver and called out, "Page Derek if you need a doc in the next 45 minutes." Running down the hall and directly down the stairs, Amelia reached Owen's office in record time. She used her key to enter the room and spotted him curled up in a ball at the side of his desk. Owen was screaming into a pillow he had grabbed from his couch.

Tentatively approaching him and lightly touching his shoulder, Amelia stated clearly, "Owen… Owen… hey, I'm here. It's just you and me." Without looking up, Owen grabbed hold of her hand as he continued to sob and hyperventilate.

"Shh… shhh… shhh, ride it out, Owen. I'm right here. Ride it out," Amelia encouraged as she rubbed his back with her free hand. In these moments, she consistently found herself thinking about sitting with Lucas as he threw up – the calming words, the curly red hair, and her boy's inability to speak amidst the suffering mirrored the present situation.

Shuffling into a seated position next to Amelia, Owen leaned into her tiny body and arms as he continued to panic. He attempted to talk, but she could not understand his words. "Shh… no hurry. You don't need to explain, Owen."

She rocked back and forth and her actions soothed him. They had been through this before. She knew what helped and what made it worse. Without a doubt, she'd learned to approach him slowly when she first arrived; often, he wouldn't hear her and could be skittish when surprised. Certain phrases seemed to calm him. Rubbing his back slowed his breathing. She also knew that he seldom wanted to debrief with her once the attack had passed. Over time, Amelia learned to be content with not always knowing why he had melted down.

As she leaned from side to side, she let her mind wander. It's been so long since this has happened. What set him off? Three years have passed since that year – the year life turned upside down, the year the twins began Kindergarten, the year Nolan and Lissa were married… the year Karina died. The year when his PTSD resurfaced after the horrific car accident that summer. Three years.

It's been at least a year since he's fallen apart like this, hasn't it? I can't remember the last time. He's worked so hard to overcome this crap. I've been fooling myself thinking we were past this.

Sniffling and wiping tears from his eyes, Owen cleared his throat and offered, "Thanks, Mia."

Now sitting side by side with their backs against the bookcase, Amelia squeezed Owen's hand. Over the years, another insight had hard-wired itself into her brain: speak little at first and follow his lead.

"I… I just… the chill up the spine, the rock in my gut… it overtook me," Owen explained as he shook his head with a small degree of shock. His break downs seemed to consistently surprise him. To Owen, they overtook him like a broken dam whose unstoppable waters rushed forth violently. For Amelia, the subtleties that attempted to warn Owen of the escalating burst of emotion were more obvious.

"Ok. It's OK," Amelia soothed as she rubbed her thumb along his hand. Now was not the time for her to offer her neuro-analysis.

"I was sitting here reviewing the Pediatric ER layout," he began as he stood and helped her stand. He walked over to his desk chair, sat down and brought her down on his lap before continuing. "Then I saw it. Sixteen. A stupid number written in pencil."

"But to you, it's not just some stupid number," Amelia pointed out.

Owen grimaced, "I know. Believe me, I know. I never thought I'd hate a number."

"It makes sense," Amelia reassured him. "Losing Karina at 16 weeks, trying to deal with the accident and the 16…"

"Stop…" Owen ordered firmly but respectfully. "Please, Mia, stop. I don't need to run through the Litany of 16s."

"I'm sorry," Amelia confessed as she leaned her head back on his shoulder. "How can I help best? What do you need?"

Softly, he mumbled, "You, right where you are. Just let me hold you, Mia. Remind me it gets better."